


Kolegaz

by shulamithbond



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, D/s, Dominance, F/M, Feeding Kink, Food Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Rough Sex, Sadism, Self-Harm, anyway, do I really have to use his first name, dubcon, fat kink, it sounds so silly i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 01:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2528483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shulamithbond/pseuds/shulamithbond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I like a bunch of kinks. I also like Palpatine. So I put them together.</p><p>Featuring scary/dubcon/noncon Dom Palpatine and a painfully subby young sub. Not a healthy relationship at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Red Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Involves some implied dubcon/noncon, and we learn that Palpatine has a slight preference for curvy women, because I'm the author and I say so.

         “What are you doing?”

         The soft voice behind you startles you, and you whirl around – thankfully, without dropping the object you had picked up in curiosity: a small black crystal cut in the shape of a pyramid. It’s smooth and cool in your palm. Beautiful.

         It’s the Senator. You’re surprised – you thought he was asleep – but then, he often works late into the night. He’s so dedicated.

         Still, you shouldn’t be touching his things. “I’m sorry, my lord. I…well, I came by to get some files, and I didn’t mean to wake you, but then I looked over and saw this and…I suppose it was just so beautiful that I wanted to touch it.”

         “You did not wake me.” He walks to you with dominant yet noiseless strides on the thick carpeting. Embarrassed, guilty, and not a little worried about the future of your internship in this office, you hold out the tiny figurine. He reaches out for it, and his hand brushes and passes over yours as he gently replaces it on the table. Briefly, your fingertips touch his. “Do you like it?”

         “Y-yes, my lord. It’s so…yes. I do.” As usual, you can’t articulate your thoughts aloud, and you blush with fresh embarrassment at how dull and slow you probably seem.

         “Would you like to know who made it?”

         “Of…course, my lord.”

         “It was crafted for the Lords of the Sith.” His blue eyes flick over your face and settle on your eyes. “Do you know who they were?”

        You can’t believe it. You don’t seem to be in trouble, and you’re actually getting to have what looks like a one-on-one conversation with him. Of course you hoped this might happen when you were picked for this internship, but you didn’t seriously expect someone like him to have time for someone like you. “Not…really, my lord. I know a few…Jedi legends.”

         “And do you believe them?”

        “I…I’m not sure, my lord.”

        Amusement passes briefly over his face. “Oh? And why ever would you mistrust the Jedi?”

        Your ears turn red this time. Of course. He’s in the Senate; he works with the Jedi Order regularly – he must be one of their supporters. “I…I don’t, my lord, of course not. It’s just that…I mean, no one is right all the time, and maybe…maybe they were…biased.”

        He takes a step closer. “I would think you would be more enamored of the Jedi. You seem to be almost like one of them. So quiet and calm. Careful. So unlike most young people I see in the Capitol.”

         You never even realized he knew you existed. “How – how do you know?”

         “I have…watched your career here with great interest.” A small smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “Tell me, would you like to see more pieces like this?” He indicates the crystal pyramid.

         “Now? I…I’d love to, but my lord, I shouldn’t keep you awake any longer”- You’ve already trespassed on his time this evening; he surely has important work to do in the morning. He already leaves later and comes in earlier than any of the other Senators you’ve seen; you’re reminded again why you’re honored to do even your small part to help, and why you really hope he doesn’t fire you for nearly breaking a piece of his ancient art.

        The smile grows a little wider. “Nonsense. It’s my thanks to you for your hard work on my staff. After all, you came all the way here for only a few files – a young woman out alone at night on a world like this must surely be dedicated to her pursuit. Come, it’s all right.” He leads you from the small office here in his apartment to his inner chamber. He presses a decorative-looking panel on the wall, and a door slides open. You follow him inside, and a lift takes you both downward. The lift door opens and you follow him into a vast, windowless gallery, lit dimly with a red glow. You stare around, at the vast collection of ancient objects, as the door clicks shut behind you.

         The Senator turns to you, and his kindly demeanor is gone. “And what of the rest of my collection? Do you like it, as well?”

         His sudden brusqueness startles you, but you trust him. “Yes, my lord. It’s…amazing.”

         “Oh, is it?” Is he angry? “Amazing enough for you to tell your precious Order about?”

        “What? I – my lord, what do you mean-?”

        “Do not waste my time; I am not susceptible to charm, or feigned innocence.” He backs you up against a red-lit wall. “You are a spy for the Jedi Order, aren’t you?”

        Unexpectedly, you see your vision starting to swim. You thought he might actually just have noticed you; now it seems he was only concerned you were some kind of informant. “N-no, my lord, I would never”-

        “Tears will not help you either.” Yet he seems doubtful. “Admit it, girl. The Jedi sent you to find out what you could about me – and to distract me – to cloud my mind”-

        “My lord, please, I would never want to hurt you.” You know you should feel afraid – after all, why would he think the Jedi were watching him if he was doing nothing they would disapprove of? – but you can’t help it – you’re hurt that he would suspect you of such a thing. Then the second part of what he’s said registers. How could you be “clouding his mind”? Why do you find the thought so distracting, so compelling?

         “For your sake, I hope you are telling the truth.” He presses one palm to your forehead and suddenly, you feel a presence in your own mind. Is it him? Does he have Jedi-like abilities? Is he using them to read your mind?

         He withdraws, and his smile has returned. A part of you is frightened now, but another part is too thrilled that he’s smiling at you again. It’s hard to look away.

         “D-Do you see I’m telling the truth, my lord?” you whisper.

         “Oh yes.” There is something hungry in his expression. “You are no spy. But of course…that isn’t all I found in that pretty head of yours.”

         You wonder what he means – and then, you know. Oh gods. He saw…them.

        Your entire face feels as if it’s on fire. “My lord, I’m…I’m so sorry, I never meant for you to – I mean, I don’t really feel – I mean”-

        “I think I know exactly what you mean.” The smile is that of a krayt dragon. “Come here, my child.”

        You want to obey, but your legs don’t seem to be working. In fact, they’re ready to buckle.

        He doesn’t wait for you to obey. He comes to you, pins you to the wall, and before you can recover from your shock, you feel his lips on your neck – kissing, sucking, biting. “What – my lord – Senator Palpatine, what”-

         He stops and fixes you with a glare. “That name has no meaning here. You will address me as ‘Lord Sidious,’ ‘Master,’ or ‘my lord,’ do you understand?”

        “Y-yes, my lord.”

        He replaces the glare with a grin. “Had I only done this sooner, I might have known all about your little fantasies.” He chuckles, pushing himself up even closer and wrapping his arms around you, his mouth gloating. “I think I shall have to punish you for delaying this so. And of course for the way you’ve been teasing me, you little minx.”

          “What? My lord, I never meant to – I mean, I’m not even…my body is too”-

         “Be quiet.” For a moment, you’re worried he’s angry with you again. “For years I’ve denied myself the pleasures of a figure like yours, for the purposes of keeping up a reputation. I won’t listen to their banal concept of beauty spouting from your lips as well.” He smiles once more, wickedly. “I am Darth Sidious, and I always get what I want, and what I want is always the best.”

        You know you should be struggling, fighting for your life, trying to escape and tell someone what you’ve just learned, but…you can’t. The truth is that you’ve never been more aroused in your life. Besides, you’d do anything to please him, and even this discovery can’t change that. You’re not proud of it, but despite this new, dark, even cruel side to Palpatine – or, rather, to Sidious – you still admire him, and wouldn’t choose to be anywhere but here. Besides, his attraction to you is obvious, almost tangible. You’ve never experienced that from anyone before.

       You’re still too shocked, nervous, and overwhelmed to speak; all you can think to do, as he starts in again with his almost feral admiration of your throat, is to wrap your own arms around his shoulders, gripping him almost as tightly as he’s gripping you. He’s warm in your arms, even under his clothes, and he smells of the clean cloth of his robe, as well as the barest traces of some cologne or aftershave.

        He pauses, just for a moment, when he feels your embrace. You can’t see his face – it’s turned away from yours – but you can feel that he’s stopped, and you wonder if something is wrong.

        He breaks apart from you, and you fall back against the wall, saddened and disappointed, but afraid to ask what you’ve done to displease him so quickly.

        But the next second you’re floating gently up into the vast chamber’s still air, apparently supported by nothing, yet securely held by an invisible force. He guides you over the floor, and holds you in the air for a moment over what appears to be a sleep couch draped in antique-looking brocades. One of his hands wraps itself around the braid you put your hair into this morning, and uses it to pull you gently to face him. “Is it truly your wish to please me?”

        “Yes, my lord.” Your voice is quiet, but you don’t stammer.

        “In whatever manner I desire?”

       “Yes, my lord.”

        “Even by your own demise?” The question frightens you – is he going to kill you after all, so that you won’t reveal his secret? Even as you fight down panic, you feel yourself grow hotter and wetter at the realization that you are completely at his mercy. Besides, it is essential that this chamber and its treasures – and the existence of Sidious – stay a secret. For the sake of the galaxy. Deep inside, you still know this to be true.

        “Yes, my lord,” you whisper finally, realizing how true your answer is as you say it.

        “Very well.” You find yourself lowered down onto the couch, on your back. Your hair falls out of its braid, fanning out around your head like a halo against the dark, rich cloth.

         You jolt in surprise as your boots come off; then, as first the simple blouse, and then the modest skirt that you were wearing, are both split and torn down the front, and fall away from your body, leaving you shivering faintly, in your undergarments and nothing else.

         He’s circling the couch slowly, sizing you up from different angles, like some kind of hungry predator might do with its captured prey. The thought makes you squirm faintly; he sees the movement, and the wicked little smile returns. “Touch yourself.”

         “What? M-my lord, what do you-?”

         He leans over you, bending close to your ear. “Touch yourself for me.” He straightens up and grins mockingly down at you. “The way you do alone, in the dark of the night, with your _fantasies_.”

         “Y-yes, my lord.” Your body is already obeying, your hand sliding down across your pelvis, finding your clit and stroking the skin on either side of it gently through the thin fabric of your briefs; your legs shift slightly farther apart as you trace the rim of your vagina and stroke your folds gently. Then, because you don’t want him to think you’re trying to tease him – you suspect he will not tolerate such games from you – you begin finally to rub your clit, gradually quickening in speed and ardor as you feel the spark catch.

        You chance a glance over at him; he looks positively devious, and a second later, you realize why.

        Suddenly, there are unseen hands on your body. They run down along your cheeks, neck, shoulders, sides, back, and ass, but you can feel them on your breasts as well, cupping, stroking, squeezing, and rubbing your nipples.

        You try to keep touching yourself, but it’s no use; you’re too overwhelmed even to do that, and so you submit to his phantom touch, writhing and arching your back as the sensations drive you closer and closer to climax.

        _Stop_. You feel rather than hear the word, and the sensations cease. Once again wet and trembling, feeling completely exposed, you look up at him again. His face is almost terrifying in its pure, savage lust.

        Slowly, he approaches the couch again, this time sitting at its foot. Then, he climbs up on it, and leans over you, his face just above yours. He runs one finger down the middle of your brassiere, and it snaps open in two, just as your clothes did. He smiles faintly at your now-free breasts with their erect nipples, and then continues on. You expect him to tear your panties like he did everything else, but instead he takes hold of them gently and slips them off, dropping them on the floor. You are completely exposed now, but you know better than to try to cover yourself with your hands; he wants to look at you.

         He shakes his head once, almost wistfully, and says nothing. Then the finger that removed your bra slides down the curve of your belly – you try not to cringe in sudden embarrassment over its size, or as he takes the soft, fair little roll of flesh that bubbles up around your waistline between his thumb and forefinger and pinches appreciatively. Afterward it continues on, down over your pelvis and past your clit, giving it the finest of strokes as it descends. It arrives at your slick folds. “My, my,” he murmurs, almost purring. “How wet you are.” You say nothing; it’s impossible to deny.

         You can’t quite contain your gasp when he plunges the finger inside you. “Now, now,” he murmurs. “I must take some precaution.” ~~  
~~

You find your voice. “M-my lord…I am a v-virgin.”

        He falls silent then, and for a few moments only gazes down at you. ~~  
~~

After a moment of hesitation, he bends down to whisper in your ear once again. “Tell me what you know of the Sith.”

         It’s difficult to process his question – your mind is so clouded with adrenaline, fear, and heat that it’s difficult to think of anything but the wish-fear that he’ll enter you. “I – I know – I know n – nothing, m – my lord.”

         His finger sinks deeper, rubbing gently against you; your walls tighten around it, and he chuckles again. Seizing the nape of your neck with his other hand, he murmurs, “In the days of the ancient Sith Empire, a great Master would select for himself a _kolegaz_. A being – one being – to be his in…every way. A faithful being to serve him – and no one else. To be his servant and his comfort, eternally faithful, forsaking all to follow and please him.” He reaches up and pulls your hair back, bringing your gaze back up to his. “Is it your will to become my _kolegaz_ , girl? To be eternally and unreservedly _mine?”_

         This flies in the face of everything you’ve ever been told to want – independence, freedom, the respectful affection of equals. And for some women, you know, those aspirations are right and good. But you knew – you always knew – you knew this was your fate. You realize that, for years, you have only been awaiting it. You know you would do anything for him; you dream of denying him nothing, not even your body; not even your soul.

         _“Yes.”_ You exhale the word, struggling for articulation through the haze of desire, anticipation, and terror. “Oh, _yes,_ my lord, _yes…”_

         It’s as if your half-lucid words are a signal; he is over you once again, once more wrapping one hand in your hair. “Then you are _mine_.” Your body gives one more writhe, completely involuntarily this time, and again you hear the low growl that sends chills up your spine.

        He lays a hand on either knee and shoves your legs open. He enters you in one fast, smooth, hard thrust, you’re so wet by this time that you’ve been longing for this. This is better than his finger; it’s warm, but so hard, and much bigger, and it fills you completely every time, each thrust driving it deeper and deeper. You try to relax – there was a tiny amount of pain when he first broke through, just enough to make you gasp, which he seemed to enjoy – but it’s so hard because you just want to take him as deep inside you as it’s possible to get, and you don’t know what to do. Soon, your body takes over, tightening your walls around him, which just seems to drive him in harder and faster. His hands have slid from your knees up your thighs, gripping your hips and holding them, guiding your body to him and keeping you right where he wants you.

        And of course his lips aren’t idle as he takes you: he’s exploring your body for real this time, kissing, licking, and nipping so quickly it’s hard to focus on one sensation before the next begins. Your impression of his face was right – he is hungry, hungry for you. He wants you. He _chose_ you, you realize dimly as your toes curl themselves.

        At first, your own arms were content to drape themselves over his shoulders and hold on for the ride; then, as if with a mind of their own, your fingers ran themselves through his hair. Now, they’re at his back once again – you realize dimly that your nails are against his skin, scraping. But you can barely think straight, let alone control them, and besides, he doesn’t seem to care. In fact, with each new exploration by your hands, he’s plunged deeper, and his lips have tasted your skin ever harder.

        He whispers in your ear, one more time. _“Tell – me – who – you – serve”-_

        His voice is pitched deeper than you’ve ever heard it – perhaps lower than it’s ever been for anyone but you. His silky tones as Senator were enough to make you shiver, but this is different. It’s impossible even to think as you listen to it. And it’s that voice that finally sends you over the edge; you can barely respond with “ _You, my lord_ ” (at least, that’s what you tried to say), as the orgasm seems to open deep inside you like a fast-blooming flower, or an exploding star.

        You’ve had orgasms before, or at least you thought you had. But this…for a moment, you’re floating outside your body, before you crash back into it like a wave into the sea. It truly feels as if you’re submerged and sinking. You’re vaguely aware that he’s joined you; he utters a brief, sharp cry, only a little greater than a gasp, as he comes. As he breathes hard against you, you realize dimly that you’re shaking, chilled and drenched with sweat. Before you can stop yourself, your body is curling into his, seeking warmth. Though he does not allow you further purchase, he does not move away. For some time you lie like this, curled up against the body of your mentor – your master now – and watching the antique scenes and symbols carved into the panels on the ceiling, until you fall asleep.


	2. Doll

        When you wake up the next morning, you have no idea where you are. You’re not at your own tiny, one-room apartment in the crumbling bloc of government-owned student housing where you’ve lived since being chosen for the scholarship and finally “escaping” the children’s home to come to the Capitol. Then you remember about Senator Palpatine – Lord Sidious – and the Red Room.

         Except you aren’t there, either.

         You’re lying in a large bed – still naked – wrapped in soft, warm white sheets and a thick white blanket. Looking around the room, you see that it’s larger than your apartment (and you can see a doorway that leads to another room, possibly a refresher), but smaller than the gallery from last night. The outside wall is all window; the ceiling and inside walls are a soft blue. Aside from the bed, a small vanity, and a desk and chair, the room is empty.

         Except for three crates stacked neatly on the floor, by the room’s other door, which is closed.

        You rise from the bed slowly, a little chilled, and check what looks to be the closet. It’s empty.

        You try the closed door, without success, not that you expected any. And even if you could leave, you don’t know where you are – and you’re still not wearing any clothes.

        You approach the crates. They aren’t very big or heavy; you’ve lifted boxes of files that were heavier. You open the largest crate carefully.

        It’s filled with your clothes. The second crate contains your books. The third, the smallest, contains some toiletries and smaller objects of yours.

        It’s everything you own in the world. You never realized before how little it was. For some reason, looking at it makes you feel even more anxious, and a little sad. You decide to explore the rooms a little more. There are two more rooms – one is indeed a refresher, and the other simply contains some soft chairs around a low table, and a small area for preparing food. Some foods are already stored there.

         You are beginning to calm down now; you realize this is a change, but perhaps not a bad one. You are here, with all your things, and apparently safe. These rooms are airy and beautiful, and you have everything you need here, even some electronic entertainment devices.

         You still cannot be sure what Senator Palpatine – what Lord Sidious – intends to do with you.

         You blush and shiver anew as the memory of the previous night washes over you at last. It’s an impossible idea, it sounds completely unreal, and the ridiculous part is that you aren’t amazed by Lord Sidious’ actions toward you – taking you (luring you) down to the gallery and then taking you the way he did – as much as you’re amazed by the fact that he chose you. True, you were there, and willing, but that doesn’t explain why he’s keeping you here instead of letting you go – or killing you.

         What do you feel for him, now? You’ve asked yourself many times if the admiration you feel for the Senator is deeper – if it can be called “love.” You are no more certain of that now than you were last night as you rode up to his apartments.

         But you know that you wanted him. You still do. The thought that your virginity and body now belong to him and only him – the thought alone – makes you wet.

         _What time is it?_ You check the chrono. You slept a long time (that’s not surprising; as an intern and worker, you typically get very little sleep, usually five or maybe six hours at the most). Even staying late as he does, it won’t be too long before Lord Sidious returns – assuming you are close to the gallery and his apartments; for all you know you’re halfway across the planet. You realize he may be far away; there may be days when he won’t come to you, days when you’ll be alone. And even when he does come to you – what will happen then?

         What did he tell you last night? The memory of everything else that happened is so strong, you almost don’t recall the words. But…he told you that you were his. He mentioned an ancient custom – from the Sith, he said – of taking a…servant. He didn’t spell out what the duties of those servants were, but judging from last night, you think you can guess.

         What was the strange word he used? _Kolegaz_. In a whisper – the silence of the rooms is intimidating – you feel it out in your mouth. _Kolegaz_. That is what you are now. Who you are now.

        What would a kolegaz do, right now?

        _A kolegaz would get ready._

 

         The ‘fresher is…impressive. Not as big or ornate as the one at the Senate, but cleaner, and better-stocked, with sweet-smelling shampoo, soap, body wash, and moisturizer, supplementing the toiletries from your old flat. When you bathe yourself, relaxing and delaying under the warm, generous spray, you use these new soaps exclusively, and when you are finished you use the new moisturizer. You revel in the way your skin seems to glow freshly, and in its newfound fragrance, free of the cheap, synthetic sugariness of your old cut-rate body wash. You wash your hair and then leave it to air-dry; it looks its best that way.

         You feel out-of-place, dressing yourself in your old, cheap clothing in these new, opulent surroundings, but it’s all you have. First you put on the best undergarments you have – the only pair that don’t look purely functional, that are dyed and have a small amount of decoration. You take out your best dress – it’s light blue, and cut simply, probably too simply for Coruscant. But it’s clean and fits well, so with a small sigh, you put it on.

         Careful not to spill any on your dress, you apply a coat of pale purple polish to your nails. You don’t often wear nail polish – the griminess of the city ruins it too quickly – but this seems to be a special occasion, and in any case, there’s no grime here.

         Like your clothes, your jewelry – if you can call it that; none of it includes actual “jewels,” of course – is rather embarrassing. You have just a few pieces, either given to you by girls you knew who didn’t want them, or else inexpensive enough to buy at some convenience store. You can find a silver-toned (not real silver, obviously) bracelet and a pair of small, more tasteful earrings that resemble crystal, but again, such imitations are put to shame here.

        You tint your lips blushing pink and add a few drops of the perfumed body spray you bought cheap for yourself last Life Day. It’s your best – and your only.

       Looking in the mirror, you can’t help but smile at the dressing-up that you’ve done – it is an improvement – but you suspect it won’t be nearly enough. Certainly someone who spends his days in the company of stylish, well-made-up women will not be especially thrilled by your efforts, you think, but at least he may appreciate the fact that you tried. Your nervousness resurges as the daylight fades and the shadows in your room lengthen until you’re forced to turn on the lamps. To occupy yourself, you pop your favorite book into your reader, and allow yourself to plunge, once more, into the familiar but well-loved story and prose.

 

       So engrossed are you in the story, it barely registers when the door to the set of rooms slides open softly. “Good evening,” says the Senator’s – Lord Sidious’ – voice behind you. You jump in your seat – you were perched on one of the chairs by the window, reading under a lamp with the lights of the city just on the other side of the glass – and whirl around.

        You unfold yourself from the chair quickly, attempting gracefulness (with limited success), and stand before him. He seems displeased that you weren’t ready to greet him, but he’s nowhere near as angry as he was last night when he thought you were a spy; he was truly frightening then. Still, you look down, hands folding themselves nervously against your waist. “Forgive me, my lord…I didn’t hear you come in.” Your throat is too dry; it’s hard to speak above a murmur.

         “Obviously,” he remarks wryly, a note of chastisement in his voice, but then he seems to soften slightly. “And tell me, what was it that distracted my young kolegaz so?”

         “This, my lord.” You hold up your reader and the book with some hesitancy. It occurs to you that he might see fit to punish you by breaking them, or by depriving you of them. But he takes them in his hands with surprising gentleness, absorbing the title and author. He looks back up at you with that unreadable expression he wore last night when he learned you weren’t a spy, and then again when you returned his embrace.

        “This book,” he says at last. “You understand it?”

        “Well, I try to, my lord. I think I do, although I’m sure there are some…allegories and things that I don’t pick up”-

        “Where did you get it?”

       “It was donated. To…to the home where I lived before I was able to come here, my lord.” You look down; you’re embarrassed at being from that place, and in any case you don’t want to talk about it, especially not here, not to him. “No one else wanted it. The others…they said it was too confusing.”

        He smirks derisively. “They would.” You aren’t sure how to respond, so you keep silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

        At last, he hands your reader back to you. “This book is one of my favorites. I discovered it in university, when I was assigned it for a course. But I think I would have read it eventually in any case. You will not be aware of this, of course, but in its time it was very…controversial.”

        Despite yourself, you smile, and have to try not to beam outright. “It’s my favorite book, my lord. I didn’t know you liked it too.”

        “I’m afraid it’s too polarizing a preference to be suitable for one who seeks to unite a government.” A small smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth, too. “It has been years since last I read it…” He seems to be considering something. “My day has been long, and there has been much to do, and I find myself weary. I desire you to read from it to me.”

         You’re a little surprised, but happy to oblige. You follow him to the sitting room, and he reclines on one of the chairs, while you perch on a lower one beside his, scroll back to the beginning, and begin to read, as steadily as you can, hoping you aren’t too loud. His eyes soon close, and you stop, wondering if he’s asleep.

         He opens his eyes briefly. “I do not recall instructing you to stop.” You nod apologetically and continue.

         At length, he opens his eyes again and rises. “That’s enough. Come, child.” You set the reader aside and stand, smoothing any wrinkles your dress might have acquired, and straightening up so that he can look at you. He begins circling you slowly; you feel as if you’re on display for him, and try desperately to disguise how embarrassed – and yet, how aroused – this makes you.

         At last, he remarks, “We will have to see about finding you something to wear that is more appropriate for your new role. I take it that this is the best you have?”

         “Yes, my lord. I’m sorry.”

         He waves this aside “I understand it is not your fault.” He approaches you and takes one of your hands, inspecting your nails – his warm, long fingers brushing and guiding yours raises bumps along your arms (hopefully he doesn’t see their undersides) – and then he runs one of those fingers lightly over the rim of your bottom lip. “And in future, you may dispense with such chemical artifices, as I spend all my days looking at them on the faces of others.”

          “Sorry, my lord.”

         He pauses, and then his demeanor softens, just a hair. “You were not to know.” He grants you a small smile – small, but warm. “You have done well, child. And you look…quite lovely.” He runs his fingers gently through a lock of your freshly-washed hair, now fully dry, and silky; then his hand traces the rim of your ear (briefly touching the ornament hanging from the lobe), and from there his fingers trace your smooth jawline as lightly as a breeze, before sliding slowly down the curve of your neck and shoulder. You can’t quite disguise the momentary tremble you give under his hand; your neck has always been exceptionally sensitive. Besides, all your body seems hypersensitive, after the cold years of being touched by no one but yourself; not only in a romantic or sexual sense, but in any affectionate sense at all.

         One hand on your shoulder – not aggressive, but firm – he steers you back to the bedroom, closing the shades with a wave of his hand, and turning down the lamps. “The windows are one-way, reflective on their exterior side,” he informs you in the process. “But I do not wish to be distracted.”

         From behind, he seizes you, embracing you not as forcefully as he did last night, but tightly enough that you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. He brushes a few locks of hair aside, exposing your neck and shoulder more fully to the air. “You _are_ lovely,” he repeats, close to your ear, even more softly this time, although there is hoarseness in his voice, another echo of last night. “And you made yourself more so for me, did you not? You scrubbed yourself and dressed yourself up and painted yourself – like such a pretty little doll – in order to please me?”

         “Yes, my lord.” Being so close to him again – the scent of him and the warmth of his body twined around yours – is already making conversing difficult.

         “What a good little kolegaz you are.” He buries his face in your hair first, and then, brushing that further aside, he presses your neck and shoulder close, taking in your scent as you might smell a flower. All the while, his lips are moving over your skin, leaving tiny warm spots that make you shiver, tasting you; eventually he wraps one hand in your hair, pulling your head back slowly to allow him greater access to your neck; his other hand slides over your breast, cupping it carefully, feeling for your nipple beneath the fabric, and rubbing it. You can’t quite contain a small cry from the back of your throat when you feel his lips on the newly-exposed skin, and the faint chuckle he gives at the sound nearly makes you weak in the knees.

         The hand on your chest slides down and around to your back, feeling for the fastenings of your dress, which he undoes one at a time. At last he frees the dress from your shoulders and it slides smoothly off your body, falling around your feet, still shod in your best pair of heeled slippers. You give a fresh shiver, slightly chilled now, exposed in nothing but your stockings, underclothes, and shoes.

          As he continues to hold your hair, the hand no longer occupied with your dress turns once more on your body, sliding down your abdomen, feeling your waist, ample hip and thigh, and finally your ass, before sliding back around and, in a flash, between your legs. Your body jolts and the hand between your legs holds your inner thigh tightly, a signal to stay in your place. It takes all your self-control not to grind against the hand, but you keep yourself still as the hand fondles your thighs. Still, he must notice the tension of your body. “So impatient,” he purrs. “You will learn the virtue of patience, girl, and the sweetness.” All at once, he releases you, and you nearly collapse to your knees. “Undress me.”

          Your hands shake with nervousness, lust, and cold as your clumsy fingers search for the various clasps, zippers, and buckles; he’s not wearing anything strange or especially complicated, by Senatorial standards, but you’ve never undressed anyone else before, especially a man. Besides, each time you walk or move your legs at all, your already-erect clit is rubbed a new way, sending fresh waves of hot distraction up from between your legs. (He is almost certainly aware of this.) You worry that you’re taking too long; that he’s growing impatient with you. But finally you’re finished, and he nods, appearing pleased. “Very good.” His voice has grown deeper, hoarser, less soft and sophisticated and more like it was last night. You enjoy both tones – you’ve come to think of the soft-spoken tone as his “Palpatine” voice, and of the deep, almost beastlike tone as “Sidious” – but the Sidious tone seems to send a special tremor through you. Perhaps it seems more dangerous. “Now remove your shoes.”

          Yes, he definitely knows how aroused you are; he knows that the action of bending down to unbuckle the straps of your slippers sends fresh stimulation through your frame, making you almost dizzy at this point. Still, you obey and step out of the shoes, and he pulls you to him once again, unclasping your brassiere – with a touch of impatience himself? – and setting it aside. “Get on the bed.”

          You obey, feeling even more exposed as you lie back, now dressed only in your stockings and panties. He climbs onto the foot of the bed, slowly and methodically unrolling first one stocking and then the other, starting at your thigh and ending at your toe, drawing your legs apart so that he can take off your panties.

          Then, for a few moments, he simply looks down at you. You are completely naked before him now, squirming with desire and embarrassment. You try to close your legs, but he holds your knees apart. As he feels you struggle, a grin spreads slowly across his face; it is the “Sidious” tone in facial expression form, and it only makes your body writhe more. “Do you want me, girl?” he asks, leaning over you.

          “Y-yes, m-my l-lord”-

         “And what is it you want me to do with you?”

         “I – uh”- You swallow and try to think for a moment. Then the words come. “I want – I want – I want you to f-fuck me, my lord.”

        “Again.”

        “Please – please fuck me, my lord.”

        He seems to battle himself for a moment, and then he cannot wait any longer. He pulls your knees and then your hips, tugging you down the bed and splaying your legs around his body. He sets upon you like some hungry, feral creature even as he raises your ass with one hand, guiding himself inside you. Again, you cannot contain your cry, and you wrap yourself around his body, and – because you have dreamed of doing this ever since the day you first heard him speak – press your lips to his. As with all your improvised participation, he seems momentarily taken aback, but then your initiative seems to energize him, and he tears into you with fresh vigor.

         Finally, you are lying back – you came harder than you did last night; you hadn’t realized that was possible – and you realize how cold you are. He has already gotten up and began gathering his clothes, dressing just enough for the trip back (his casual dressing makes you think his apartments must be close, maybe even in this building), but he looks over his shoulder and, with an almost careless motion, slides the blanket over you. You can’t help but smile. “Good night, my lord.”

         He nods without looking back. “Yes, good night”- he turns suddenly, curious. “What is your name?”

         “Maia, my lord.” You try not to laugh; it seems funny that even after all this, you’ve never really introduced yourself personally to him.

        Again, his expression shifts, and you cannot read it. “Then…good night, Maia.”


	3. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly feeding kink, so if you don't like that, you can skip it without really missing anything.

         Time passes. Most nights, Lord Sidious no longer leaves after you two are done in bed; now, he will often spend the night, warm under the covers beside you. He is still gone by the time you wake up in the morning, since he lets you sleep. But you like spending more time in his company, and – although you would never dream of complaining – you enjoy not being alone for quite so long a time during your day. You’ve always preferred the security of solitude, but this is almost too much. That’s one reason you’re excited – and a little nervous – when he leaves you a message one morning that you will be dining with him the coming evening.

          Another reason you are nervous is…quite frankly, it’s your eating habits. You haven’t really eaten in his presence, so he wouldn’t be aware of this (probably), but when you do eat during the day, you eat…probably a little too much. Before Lord Sidious brought you here, you were always on some diet, and even if you weren’t, you could never afford to buy more than the bare essentials. Besides, you had to try not to gain any weight because you couldn’t afford to buy bigger clothes. But since coming here, your motivation seems to be gone – when you think about your size, all you can think of is the little ways Lord Sidious seems to enjoy your flesh when you’re in bed together, how good his fingers feel on your belly or your inner thigh. And besides, you’ve been hungry – constantly hungry – for as long as you can remember. Now that the feeling has lifted, you realize how much better you feel when you are not empty. You realize you are more afraid of that old hunger returning than you are of putting on weight.

         Are you growing…bigger? You haven’t really noticed, or at least not until this day, after receiving the dinner invitation. You’ve bathed as is your custom every day, but today you’re especially thorough, rubbing your body all over with sweet-smelling soap, oils, and moisturizers until you seem to glow. Now, as your hair dries and you rifle through your still-new wardrobe to pick out suitable dinner attire, you find your old blue dress, the one you wore your first full night with him here. On a whim, you decide to try it on, to feel the familiar fabric on your skin.

          As soon as you begin to pull it down over your head, you realize this was a mistake. The dress barely slides down over your breasts, and for a few moments you’re sure it will rip. Finally, you’ve pulled it down over your body. A still more obvious sign that it no longer fits comes when you try to fasten it. With some care and effort, you’re able to wrench the fastenings together, but after you’re done, you feel as if you’re wearing a corset.

           You turn and regard yourself in the mirror. No, the dress definitely no longer fits. It stretches tight over your breasts, constricting them, pushing them together and pushing them upward, so that you can see them heave with each breath. Your nipples, stiff from the mild stress of squeezing into the dress, are clearly visible, straining against the thin fabric, but you doubt you could fit a brassiere between the bodice and your chest at this point. The dress is also no longer quite wide enough for your hips and thighs, and stretches taut over them. You want to sit down on the bed, but feel the stitches over your backside stretch and nearly give way when you try.

           But the most obvious change is around your…midsection. The fabric contains you, but just barely. It clings to the roll of flesh that sits on your waist – that roll has been there for as long as you can remember, but it’s grown larger now. When you turn to the side and look at your profile in the mirror, you can see that your stomach in general has grown both slightly larger and just a bit rounder, and protrudes just a little farther out than it used to (if your breasts are any guide, anyway – they’ve grown too, apparently, after all).

          You wriggle out of the dress and resolve to try harder; after all, just because Lord Sidious enjoys women with some curvature doesn’t mean he wants anyone too large. You certainly don’t want to physically repulse him. Tonight will be a good start – you’ll likely be too nervous to eat much anyway.

 

          “Are you ill?” Lord Sidious’ voice shakes you out of your brief reverie. He had been telling you about some ongoing projects in the office that you had been working on as part of his staff; you were curious to know if and how they had been resolved. You had momentarily drifted back into your memories of your own brief “career” in galactic politics. The truth is that although you’re supremely grateful to Lord Sidious – you feel better here with him; you feel _safer_ here with him, in spite of everything – you do miss your internship.

         “What? My lord?” You cock your head slightly, confused. “No, my lord, I don’t think so. I feel fine.” You take another sip of wine; you’ve never really had it before. It isn’t sweet, the way they describe it sometimes in poems you’ve read. It’s bitter, but the taste is interesting, and if you sip it, it tastes good on your tongue.

         “Then you don’t care for the food.”

         Oh, that’s what he means. He’s noticed your still-half-full plate. You feel yourself blush. “Oh, no, my lord. It’s delicious. I’m just…not very hungry tonight.”

         He sits back in his chair, ice-blue eyes fixing themselves on you. “It’s curious that someone like you should find herself attracted to politics, Maia. Because you have no guile. That face of yours – sweet as it is – could not hide your feelings even from the simplest of fools. Let alone from me.” His voice lowers by perhaps an octave, and you feel a shiver and an intimate twitch; you can hear Sidious in his voice. “So, Maia, I ask you to tell me what troubles you.”

         “I…” You swallow, embarrassed. At last, your voice sounding too quietly, “I…I just don’t want to…let myself go, my lord.”

         He smiles faintly. “I find it intoxicating when women ‘let themselves go.’”

         “But I mean…” You look down at your hands, clasping themselves in your lap. “I want to…I want my…my body to stay…I want my body to please you, my lord.”

         “I see.” He sits for a moment, apparently considering his next move. Finally he asks, “And are you still hungry, girl?”

         You blush again, embarrassment growing. “Y-yes, my lord. I am.”

         “I see,” he says again, still thinking.

         Then he rises from the chair, and stalks to where you sit. He stops behind your chair, hands grasping the backrest, pushing the chair in toward the table – it’s not constrictive, but you couldn’t easily slide out of your seat.

         You watch as he uses the Force to push one of the dishes forward, and then as he scoops another portion onto your plate.

        His hands grasp your shoulders with a steady grip, gentle but strong as a vise, holding you in place. He bends down to whisper in your ear. “You may leave this table when your plate is clean. Do you understand?”

        You can’t help but swallow at the sternness in his voice, even as you derive a slight thrill from his commanding of you. “Yes, my lord.”

 

        By the time you’ve finished your original food, plus the extra portion he gave you, your stomach feels full; even too full. You have the irrational feeling that your belly can be seen protruding through the cloth of your gown. Why did you wear a gown with such a fitted cut? And yet something about the full feeling – not the thoughts of how you look, maybe, but the sensation of fullness – is good, comforting; even luxurious. And you’re glad not to feel hungry anymore. Your years of not having enough to eat really have caused you to hate that yawning emptiness at your core.

         After you began eating again, he returned to his own chair, and simply sat across the table from you in silence, watching you. A part of it was embarrassing, even unnerving, but at the same time, the sternness of his looks, the power he conveyed as he reminded you continuously, without saying a word, that you were to do as he ordered you, and that even your diet was within his control…this was thrilling. Even as your cheeks burned red and you perceived the heaviness and tightness of your stomach, you slowly grew wet under his gaze.

         Now you can’t help but squirm faintly; you’re sure he can see right through you. Your gluttony and your shame over it and over how you look; the guilty pleasure of feeling full; the rough deliciousness of being bent to his will. You’re exposed before him, as you always were, and even this knowledge arouses you.

         You look down at your empty plate, and then up at him, questioningly. For a moment, you’re afraid he won’t let you leave the table; that he’ll want you to eat more. The fear feels bitter, but good, like the taste of the wine.

          He nods with quiet magnanimity, and the chair pulls back from the table slowly. He pushes his chair back as well, and motions you to come to him. Between the gown’s rather voluminous skirt and your fullness, you feel anything but graceful as you stand up.

           When you reach him, his hands brace your hips and he pulls you up onto his lap. He feels you stiffen in his hands, almost resisting him. “What is it?”

           “My lord, I don’t think – I think I’m too heavy”-

          “No, you are not.” He pulls you back against his chest, your head falling to his shoulder and your backside flat on his lap. You think you can feel him hardening beneath you, and you struggle not to writhe as a fresh wave of arousal hits you. “No more of this, Maia.”

          “But my body”-

         “Hush.” His hands had been pushing your shoulders back against him; now they slide down, cupping your breasts and then gliding further. He clasps your belly through your dress, rubbing it, feeling its fullness and rounded shape. “Our first night together, I told you that I had longed for a woman with a body like yours. Do you think me a liar?”

       “N-no, my lord”- you feel his erection through both your clothes now, and he grinds against you even as you squirm when he brushes your folds with the tip.

        One of his hands now leaves your belly and dips between your legs, feeling again the soft flesh of your inner thighs. “Then never again doubt your beauty in my sight,” he says in something between a purr and a growl. “I wish you always plump and shapely. And besides, I would never want my kolegaz to appear anything but well-fed. Otherwise it seems as if I cannot afford to keep her.”

        For some time you both are silent, except for an occasional moan from you as his lips set themselves again on your neck, and he continues to fondle your clit. Just as you’re gradually adjusting to the sensations, there’s a crash.

         You open your eyes. The table is now completely clear. Even the cloth is on the floor.

         In your ear, Lord Sidious growls, “Get on the table.”

         You obey as quickly as you can, scrambling up onto it with his help, and sitting on its top. The table is beautifully, delicately crafted, but it’s heavy and strong, and doesn’t even creak beneath your weight.

         He lays you back gently but firmly, then draws your legs apart and your knees up. He rucks up your skirt, and pulls off your shoes, stockings, and underwear. The air of the room chills you faintly, but his hands are warm against your skin.

         He seizes your legs, holding them in place, and you cry out when you feel his tongue against your clit. “Oh my lord, y-y-you don’t have to”-

         He pinches the inside of your thigh, causing you to cry out again. “I will do as I please with you,” he growls again. “I wonder how you taste, little one.”

         You have no time for embarrassment before he tears into you again; there’s no room in your mind for anxiety or shame because the feeling is overwhelming, a hundred times more intense than your own touch ever was, and all you can do is grow ever wetter, which brings only more and more laps from his extremely nimble tongue against your clit and folds.

         You start to sense your climax approaching when he stops, and you nearly whimper at the sudden coldness and loneliness of your parts. Then, you hear the strong table give the faintest of creaks as he climbs on top of it and mounts you, hiking your skirt up further and unfastening your gown partially so that he can pull the bodice down, freeing your breasts, which he starts to lick and suck as he begins to fuck you. At length, he simply splits the dress open as is his wont, exposing your naked body completely on the table. It seems to take hardly any time for you to come beneath him, and his own orgasm follows soon after.

        Looking up at him, you realize his face is flushed, and he is breathing hard, his hair slicked back with sweat. He really does desire you; it’s impossible to deny, even for you.

        Climbing off the table carefully, before helping you to do the same – you’re both tired and a little shaky on your feet from the force of your coming, it seems – he purrs, “I take it we’ll have no more of this dieting, pet, or these petty insecurities.”

        Arousal still not completely spent, you press against him with the boldness of fatigue and wine, to his surprise, and kiss him. “No, my lord. Of course not.”


	4. The Assistant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OC suffers an assault attempt here, so if sexual assault triggers you, best to skip.

          Even now that your door is unlocked, you don’t find yourself leaving your rooms as much as you thought you would. There aren’t many places to go – you could go up to the Senatorial apartments, but you don’t want to in case one of your old fellow-interns comes by unannounced and recognizes you. You sometimes slip upstairs briefly to get one of the books, but that’s all.

          The one place you do go is the red gallery. It’s the first place where you and Lord Sidious were ever intimate – just sitting on that couch still arouses you a little – and besides, you like the feeling of the ancient artifacts, mechanisms, and works of art around you. You never knew your family’s history, but being here, surrounded by the history of the Sith, gives you a feeling of belonging – after all, now that you are a kolegaz, it’s your history too, at least indirectly.

          You do your best to stay in your rooms when Lord Sidious brings people down to the red room, but there’s one time when you didn’t expect visitors, and had to make a dash at the last minute, and you think maybe one of them saw you.

          Later, listening from the other side of your door, you hear Lord Sidious talking to one of them. The other’s voice is male, and doesn’t sound too old. It’s too loud, too brash, obnoxious in the reverential, echoing silence of the gallery. Your nose wrinkles as you frown. You’ve never really liked the men – men? More like boys – from your own generation, because of this. They’re so loud, so crude. They have no subtlety or respect.

          Still listening, you learn that the boy hopes to become Lord Sidious’ apprentice. You’re fairly certain Lord Sidious already has one, or something like one – you’ve seen him a couple times; he’s the only one of Lord Sidious’ visitors you’ve been allowed to meet. Lord Sidious calls him Maul. He appears fearsome, but he’s never been anything but respectful, if taciturn, to you. You can’t imagine this new boy being respectful, or kind, not to anyone, especially you.

 

          “Who are you?” The voice breaks the peace of the room, and you look up from your reader.

         Your blood seems to go cold. It’s the new boy.

         You had no idea he’d be here. But now he’s seen you – it’s too late to run and hide – and you realize it’s just the two of you down here, and that you are very alone. Suddenly it’s like you’re back out in the city – taking late-night autobuses and pneumo-rails to and from the governmental district, or walking back alone through your housing bloc. Even knowing that you were plain and sexually unappealing, as well as too poor to rob, you had felt so exposed, jumping at every movement and shrinking back from every fellow traveler.

         Still, you try to stay calm. You certainly do your best to keep the fear off your face. After all, what can this boy do to you without Lord Sidious punishing him? “I serve Lord Sidious,” you reply simply, and as imperiously as you can.

         “Do you live down here?” he demands.

         His bluntness shocks you into a “Yes.”

         Now a leering grin curls on his lips, and part of you wants to vomit. “So…how do you ‘serve’ Sidious, anyway?” He’s begun to walk toward you. You know from the way he asked the question that he already suspects the answer.

         “That’s…that’s none of your concern.”

        “You know, somehow I never figured he’d have a girl.” He follows you up the shallow steps to the dais where the couch is; there’s about a meter between you now. “But that’s mostly because I never actually imagined him fucking. I mean, that’s a bit disgusting. Well, I don’t have to tell _you_ about _that_ , I guess.”

        “It’s – it’s not disgusting. And he’ll be back soon, you know. Any minute.” The room and the couch don’t make you aroused anymore. In fact, this is what the polar opposite of “arousal” feels like.

        He looks up at you, the red light glinting in his hard eyes. “Why don’t I come up there and show you what it’s like with someone who’s _not_ six months from retirement?”

        “N-no.” You stammer slightly, but the word still rings out clear through the hall. “No, thank you.”

         For a moment you can’t read his face, and then you can’t help but cower, shrinking back, because aside from Lord Sidious, you’ve never seen anyone look angrier. “What, you think you can do better because he picked you? I’m surprised he couldn’t do better than some fat gutter-trash chick who can barely string two words together. But maybe none of the other interns would spread them except you. Good for you. You should feel really proud of being his personal twilighter.” You try desperately not to blink; if you blink, you know the tears will escape. Why would Lord Sidious choose you? And what makes you different from a prostitute, anyway?

          He tugs you in the Force, and you fall down the steps and into his arms. He grips you hard, painfully so. One of his hands grabs a fistful of your hair, and the other grabs ahold of the neckline of your dress and rips it down over your shoulder. You’re struggling, but it’s all happening too fast.

          He’s hauling your head backwards and your chin up, and just as he’s begun pushing his tongue down your gagging throat-

         The lift door slides open. It’s Lord Sidious.

         The boy – the assistant; the possible new apprentice – lets go and shoves you away as fast as he can; you fall to the floor on your rear.

         The terror of what the new boy tried to do, plus the momentary fear, the sensation of falling, and the frankly insignificant pain of your impact against the black tiles all serve to push you over the edge. The tears finally start to flow, and before you can even register the fact, you’re sobbing wordlessly on the floor. Sobbing because of what could have happened if Lord Sidious hadn’t come in, sobbing because you’re sure he’ll think you wanted the boy; because you’ve betrayed him, and maybe even hurt him, and because now he’ll throw you back out on the street – and because that thought proves the assistant was right, and you really are a prostitute.

          Or worse – what if he decides, as your punishment, to give you to the boy? Or what if he kills you both? That one would be preferable to being touched again by his new assistant, but Lord Sidious would still believe that you’d wanted this… _no_. He wouldn’t do that to you; neither of those things. _But he is angry…_

          You realize Lord Sidious is looking at you – so is the boy, frozen carefully in place. You try to stop crying, you try to say something, the words are in your head – but you can’t get them out. All you can do is continue to weep.

        Lord Sidious hasn’t said a word, hasn’t even made any sudden movements. Until now. Almost faster than you can see, the potential apprentice flies forward over the tiles, and into one of Lord Sidious’ waiting hands, which grips his throat, clawlike.

        Lord Sidious’ face is a mask of rage.

        The boy is gasping, trying to speak. “S-she wanted it, my lord, I was just down here waiting for you and she came at me like”-

        The rest of his words are lost in a shriek as Lord Sidious does something unseen to his body through the Force. The boy arches rigidly in a spasm, and comes away panting and whimpering faintly, slack and limp in Lord Sidious’ grip.

         Lord Sidious hisses “Silence,” at the boy, and his words slice the air. “You will hold your lying tongue, you little piece of _filth_.”

        The boy blanches, and swallows audibly. “M-my lord, p-please, it’s, it’s not what you think, I”-

        “I told you to be silent.” Lord Sidious pulls the boy close, almost as if to kiss him. “You will never leave this chamber alive. You will die here, without ever again seeing the light of day. I am going to bleed you out upon this very floor, drop by drop.”

        “N-n-no, no, my lord, p-p-please, I”-

        “I will personally see to it that you die in agony, lying in a pool of your own blood and tears and mess, all of which will flow freely from you as you feel your own life force slowly ebbing.”

        “No, my lord, _please,_ I swear it”-

        “I will then dispose of your husk among the garbage, like the trash that you are.”

         You are not the only one crying now – the boy has begun to sniffle too, in terror. “N-no, my lord, please, j-just let me make it up to you, I’m really sorry, gods I’m so sorry, please, I’ll never do it again – I’ll never even look at her again, I s-swear – p-please, my lord, just – just have _mercy_ , I’ll do anything, please – I’m b-begging you”-

         Lord Sidious smiles mirthlessly. “Perhaps this was for the best after all. I have no use for sniveling little cowards within my ranks.” Something glitters in the hand not still holding the boy’s neck. You realize it’s a small knife – an old-fashioned, solid, corporeal blade. It will hurt more and take longer to cut than a laser blade would, and since it won’t cauterize the wound as it cuts, there will be blood. A great deal of it.

         He really is going to do it. He’s going to cut the veins of the boy, who is now weeping openly.

        Perhaps you do feel some pity for the boy. Perhaps you still feel guilty, and ashamed. Or perhaps you simply can’t stand the idea of seeing so much blood in your current emotional state. But somehow, this scene frees your tongue. “M-my lord – please”- You can’t seem to say anything else, but he is powerful and he must read your mind, and understand that you cannot watch him do this, not right now, not after everything else that’s happened, that the thought of it makes your stomach turn upside down.

         But what if he thinks now that the boy was telling the truth? You manage to speak again. “I…I don’t…my lord, I hate him but…I don’t need to see him dead, I just – I just never want him to – again”-

        There is silence for what feels like a long time, and then Lord Sidious turns back to his would-be assistant. “My little mistress is young and soft-hearted, and, it seems, more forgiving than I am.” He seizes the boy’s chin and jerks his head around to face you. “You will thank her for her mercy.”

        The boy is trembling visibly. “T-t-thank you…my lady…”

        And Lord Sidious orders, “Maia, return to your chambers and wait for me there.”

        “Y-yes, my lord.” You rise slowly and drag yourself from the gallery. When you reach the door to your rooms, you shut it tightly and lock it behind you with still-shaky hands.

 

         You’re cleaned up somewhat and wearing a non-ripped dress when your door opens. You’ve been trying to read, but you set the reader down immediately as Lord Sidious comes in. You would have done so even without the memory of his displeasure at your distractedness your second night together; you haven’t been able to focus.

         You stand before him, trying not to cringe. You’re still shaking with fright, feeling chilled (why is the room so cold?), and more than that, you’re ashamed. You can’t even look into his face. Still, you do your best to say something. “My lord – I – I’m sorry…” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

         “Come to me, child.” His voice is soft, and he doesn’t sound angry. He holds out a hand, and you go to him and take it. You’re still not completely convinced he won’t punish you, but you are his kolegaz and you will take whatever punishment he decides you deserve.

         To your amazement, he leads you into the sitting room and then sits you down on a couch beside him, gathering you into a protective – and possessive – embrace. “Tell me what he did to you.”

         “M-my lord, what”-

         “You are trembling,” he says tenderly. “I can feel your fear still within you. You were inconsolable back in the gallery. Tell me how he hurt my pretty little kolegaz.”

        You do your best to say something. “M-my lord, I – I promise, my lord, he was lying, I didn’t – I wouldn’t”-

        “I know that,” he responds calmly. “I could feel it. Hush, pet, be calm. He will never touch you again. You will never have to worry about laying eyes on him again. Now tell me what he did.”

        You recount the events of the morning, and when you are finished, he kisses you gently. You return it hesitantly; you hope he doesn’t want to go to bed, because you’ve never felt less horny in all your life. But again, he seems to sense this. “I had had hopes for this night,” he remarks. “But I think they shall have to be postponed.”

        “T-thank you, my lord.”

        He pulls you close again, almost jealously. “For my faithful little kolegaz, I can be merciful.” He kisses your hair. "After all, I would never do anything to harm you. My first concern is your protection. I hope you believe me when I say that."

        "Yes, my lord."

          You can't see his face, but you can hear the smile in his voice, as his tone goes completely silken. " _Good_."


	5. The Assistant part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No assault in this part, just some consensual smut.

         It’s been at least a few weeks, and Lord Sidious has kept his word; his only physical contact with you is the occasional embrace and kiss as he walks through the door when he visits you. You don’t mind these; in fact you’re comforted by them. Other than these, your service is confined to reading aloud from various books as he relaxes or meditates, or even – if he is busy – aiding him with some Senatorial work. You also enjoy this; you hadn’t realized how much you missed it.

         But the truth is, you’re beginning to miss your and Lord Sidious’…intimacy. The mere thought makes you blush – and you still feel a little ashamed of such desire, the words of the would-be apprentice still echoing in your ears – but you’ve never been one for much self-delusion. You keep finding yourself aroused at random times during your day, and your fantasies have begun to return. Yes, you decide, it’s time to let Lord Sidious know that you are once again ready for his affection, should he find himself in the mood to give it.

          In your new role as his sometime-assistant, you’ve become familiar with Lord Sidious’ schedule, so you know that he has nothing in particular planned for this evening; he’ll be alone in his apartments, catching up on work as usual. Still, you will have to be careful in case there are any surprise visitors.

          Especially… _female_ visitors. You understand – though you don’t like the idea much – that it’s quite possible Lord Sidious has been seeking the companionship of other women while you recover from the assault. After all, his needs did not disappear during that time, and besides, you are his servant, not his wife. The thought of walking in on him with another woman nearly stops you from carrying out your plan – nearly, but not quite.

          Now, drawing the cloak closer around you, you take a deep breath and step out of your suite and into the red gallery, your footfalls echoing on the black stone tiles. It’s been difficult to enter the gallery again since the assault, but you’ve forced yourself to go back to it, again and again, gradually until you can stand to walk through it as you could before (ruining the red hall and its artifacts for you would be the final victory of your attacker, and you won’t give him that).

         Across the great room and up the lift, and now you’re outside the panel that will lead you into the apartment. You give yourself a mental once-over, smoothing your freshly-washed hair and adjusting your attire, and then you open the panel as quietly as you can, slipping into the suite.

         You listen hard for the sound of voices, conversation, but hear nothing. You creep as quietly as possible down the corridor, ready to duck into a room or behind a door at any minute, knowing that your presence – your existence – must remain a secret. As you become more and more certain that there are no guests in the apartment, you grow bolder.

          You reach Lord Sidious’ study, and knock on the door as meekly as you can. Among your fears is the worry that Lord Sidious will feel you are being too forward, even attempting to tell him what to do. Again, you consider abandoning the plan, but just then, the door slides open.

         He looks up at you questioningly as you enter. “What is it, Maia? Is there a problem?”

         “N-no, my lord.” You are nervous, but you smile. “I just…I just wanted to tell you how grateful I am of the way you’ve taken care of me, my lord. No kolegaz has ever had a better master than you, my lord.”

        A faint smile turns up the corners of his mouth. “Such pretty words, from such a pretty girl. To what do I owe the pleasure? What is it you desire from me?”

        “Nothing…well, there is something, my lord.” With another deep breath, you unfasten the cloak and let it fall from your shoulders and onto the floor at your feet.

        “My lord, if it pleases you…I wish for you to share my bed again.” You’re blushing, but you keep going. “I…I miss our times together, my lord.”

         You stand as straight as you can, presenting your body fully. You’re wearing one o ~~~~f the more revealing costumes Lord Sidious gave you; you normally do not wear these, since in truth you don’t much care for them, and you also still don’t believe they truly flatter your body as Lord Sidious claims. But tonight, you dressed yourself in the one you decided was prettiest. It is a two-piece outfit similar to the dancers’ clothes you see in HoloNet images sometimes, but better-crafted, you can tell, from much finer materials. It is silky, lacy, somewhat glittering black; the smooth, fine, almost gossamer fabric slides sensuously over your skin. It is the least amount of clothing you’ve ever worn in front of another person, aside from the times that Lord Sidious has undressed you completely, and the cloth it’s made from is just a little transparent.

          Lord Sidious sits back from his desk and regards you. You can tell he approves, but there is something else in his face, something you can’t read. “Very pretty. However…I am not certain I am convinced you are in earnest. You might simply be attempting to keep my favor. And besides, I would not wish to cause you any more distress than you already suffered at the hands of that brute.” His smile grows a touch wider. “I believe, my pet, that I will need some…convincing.” He leans forward, and you hear the Sidious note in his voice. “Seduce me.”

          For a second, your apprehension persists, but then your horniness wins out. You love few things more than the feeling of being completely exposed before him, vulnerable and at his mercy, and now you allow your arousal to take over, acting on impulse. Feeling your smile growing wider, you approach the desk and walk around it, hips swaying slightly. Now directly before him, you raise yourself to perch carefully on the edge of the desk. Leaning over, you place your palms on either side of his face with the utmost gentleness, and guide his lips to yours for a kiss. As both of your tongues intertwine, you notice distantly that your position has caused your breasts to hang enticingly in the air, close together, nearly popping out of the silken top of your costume. Removing one of your hands from his cheek, you find his hand and bring it first to your lips, breaking them away from his momentarily to kiss the hand and each fingertip, and then to suck each digit gently. Finally, you guide his hand to your breast and arrange his hand and fingers to cup it, stroking your nipple, as you resume kissing his lips.

        Without breaking the kiss, you stand and position yourself before his chair, so close you’re nearly in his lap. A moment later, that is exactly where you are climbing – you realize you are mounting him, for a change – and straddling, your legs spread wide and your barely-covered folds just a few centimeters above his length, which you can see as you look down is already quite erect. Carefully, you lower yourself and grind just once or twice, to tease him, grinning as infuriatingly as you can. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you plant more kisses in his hair and on his face. Then, you push yourself up higher and sit straighter, pushing your breasts upward toward him; you help him slide them out of the costume, free of the wisps of fabric that barely contained them to begin with, and you hold onto his shoulders as he admires them in his usual fashion; in the cool air of the apartment, his hot lips on your bare skin make you gasp and grow wetter with each passing second. His hands clasp your hips, pinching and kneading at your exposed rolls of flesh.

         At last you can’t take it anymore. You sit back from him – you just barely register his half-growl of annoyance – so that you can undo his pants. You take him in your hands just for a moment, feeling how hot and hard he is, as your touch makes him growl again, and then you sit forward, guiding him into you as you lower yourself down slowly.

         You’re barely around him before he starts thrusting, and your body takes over just as quickly, thrusting back, your hips circling and grinding. This might become one of your very favorite positions; it feels so good, as the fabric of his rucked-up robe rubs your clit. He seems to like it too. “Oh, _yes_ , Maia… _good,_ Maia; that is… _yes_ …oh _yes_ …good girl…just like that…”

         It’s not easy to speak coherently as the combination of his thrusts, your grinding, and gravity pushes him still deeper inside you, but your mouth manages to gasp out, “Are…you…convinced, my lord?”

         He gives a low throaty sound, something between a laugh and another growl. “Oh yes…you want this…you little minx…you little whore…my sweet little whore.” The words of the assistant sound momentarily in your ear, but they cannot stop this sensation, and even the sting of the memory only serves to add a deliciously dark edge to the moment.

         Your hands grip his robes so hard you’re convinced you’ll rip them as one thrust finally sends you over the edge, and you go limp against him in the chair, even as you feel him come a few seconds later. You two stay like this for some time, breathing hard against each other.

         At last, you look up at him. “What I said is true, my lord. I do desire you, and I did miss these times.”

        “I believe you,” he reassures you with a smile. “You were most impressive.” He raises one eyebrow. “Although I did sense…you enjoyed the power, didn’t you? The control.”

        You blush, but you can’t hide your own smile. “Well…maybe just a little, my lord. Just this once.”

        “Well, we shall have to see about that.” You wince as a crash sounds behind you; everything on the desk has been swept onto the floor. “For now,” he growls in the voice of Sidious, “It’s _my_ turn.”


	6. Unbroken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, they do start getting a tiny bit shippy over the course of this fic, mostly because I don't know how to write pairings like this any other way.
> 
> Anyway, this starts out a little shippy and then dissolves into a fairly hardcore bondage scene.

       You do your best to be of service to your lord, and as much as he seems to enjoy providing for you, you don’t like to be demanding. Still, you consider that you’d like to fill your days, and more than that, you want to learn; to expand your mind. Besides, wouldn’t you be of more assistance to Lord Sidious if you had more education? You know your own political instincts can’t hope to rival his, but you can’t help but feel you’d be a more fitting companion if only…

        You raise your gaze from your feet, ready to make this argument. You try not to shrink back at Lord Sidious’ anger, which you don’t have to be Force-sensitive to feel radiating from him. “My lord, I simply felt – well, I feel – I feel that I would be of more use to you if my education in politics was to continue”-

        _“Silence.”_ His tone stings the air.

        “Please, my lord, just let me explain”-

        _“I told you to be silent!”_ he roars, and now you do shrink back, obediently falling silent.

        He takes a step toward you, and you can see his anger is barely under his control. “I could have killed you,” he snarls. “On the first night, after you fell asleep. It would have been the safest course. _Do you have any idea how much you knew, even then?_ Let alone how much you know _now_.

        “But I was merciful, was I not? Instead I gave you a new life, a life of comfort and shelter and luxury and peace”- his mouth twists wryly. “Or so I thought.” Now the anger flows back into his features. “I even allowed you to move as freely as I could afford. Knowing the risk I was running. I don’t suppose it ever crossed your mind that you could jeopardize my life’s work at any moment? A single careless word, even a single careless act”- He takes another step toward you, and you actually wonder if he’s about to strike you. You feel tears of fear and shame well up, but you are just able to keep from shedding them.

        Still, it’s likely he sees the glittering in your eyes, or maybe he simply feels your terror and remorse, because after a few moments of silent fuming, he seems slightly calmer. “For months, I have returned home and come down here almost immediately. You are…the first being I see each morning, and the last being I see, typically, at each day’s end. And I find I have grown…highly accustomed to that arrangement. Now perhaps you can comprehend what might have run through my head when I returned tonight and you were nowhere to be found.” He pauses. If you didn’t know him better, you’d say he appears…conflicted. “I had to face the possibility that some enemy had found you and taken you. The thought of you coming to harm…does not remotely fill me with pleasure; nor does the prospect of you under another man’s hand. And of course, as I say, there is much they could learn about me from you. And just when I had satisfied myself that there were no signs of struggle, and you were most likely out of your own accord…” He glowered. “I learned of the…incident today on the monorails.”

         You nod and speak up before you can stop yourself. “Yes, my lord, that’s why I got ho – got back so late. They had to close down all the stations for kilometers around to sweep for more explosives. Even when I was able to board one of the hoverbuses, the traffic was terrible. I don’t say this to excuse what I did, my lord, but…I had hoped that I would be back before your return, to save you the worry. But I failed.” You look down once more. “I am sorry, my lord.”

          He is quiet for a time, and then he speaks up. “Why not inform me of your plans from the beginning? Deception seems…unlike you.”

         “In truth, my lord, I was too afraid you would say no.” You try not to give a nervous smile. “I had planned to tell you tonight, after I had already done it, in a more…persuasive way than this.”

         “So you planned not only to deceive me, but to manipulate me into doing your bidding as well.”

         “I-I wouldn’t put it like that, my lord. I mean, that isn’t how I thought about it. I never meant disrespect.”

         He settles back, crossing his arms. “Oh, no? Well, perhaps not, but I confess that any trust I had in you is broken. I should refuse to allow you to attend this course you’ve enrolled yourself in, now, as punishment for your willfulness.”

         You feel your breath catch in your chest, and you’re a little surprised by your own reaction. But not only are you aching to learn again, yearning for the calm structure and measured rigor of study, hungry for more knowledge of political science than you’ve been able to glean from your momentary, limited glimpses into Lord Sidious’ career…you remember the anxiety – no, the terror – of not only venturing out of your rooms and your Master’s complex in general, but of navigating in the _world_ again. You were certain you couldn’t do it. But you did. You did, and what’s more, you achieved your goal. The thought of losing it now is almost unbearable.

         “No, my lord.” You can’t stop the tears from escaping now. “Please, I’ll do anything you want. But please…not that. I know that I deserve it, but please…I beg you. Don’t take that from me. Please, my lord, I’ll give up anything else, anything but that…” You realize that at some point you sank to the floor on your knees, overcome by your own fatigue and emotion. He is looking down at you, regarding you in silence.

         At last, he stirs. “Come now, Maia. Rise. We’ll have no more of that.” He waits while you dry your eyes, and then beckons for you to rise and approach him. You obey, tensing for whatever Lord Sidious sees fit to do to you.

         “I have decided that you may attend that class of yours,” he informs you, bringing you close, sounding almost like his usual self. “I agree that you would make a more fitting companion with more education, especially when I consider my position and status. And I understand…after all, though you are no Sith Lord or politician yourself, you are far from unintelligent. Best that your mind is occupied by something other than your own amusement.” He allows himself a faint smile as you murmur your thanks and plant a soft kiss on the back of his right hand.

          “However,” he intones, and his arms wrap around your body and clutch you to him, greedily, like a vise, “there is still the matter of your punishment.”

 

         For a day now, you’ve served your punishment – Lord Sidious set you to work cleaning manually, first your own rooms, then the red gallery, and finally his apartment. You wore little else besides your underclothes, which was fortunate, since although you’d certainly cleaned before, it had been awhile, and so soon you were sweaty, grimy and exhausted. Lord Sidious supervised you, and from the way he stared at you as you scrubbed tiles on your hands and knees, you were sure he would want to take you after this stage of your punishment was finished, and you were right. He didn’t even give you a chance to wash yourself, but claimed you as soon as your final task was complete, pinning you down on the floor he had just watched you scrub and having his way with you roughly, as if you really were some common domestic slave.

          Now, you shiver – partly out of fear, partly out of lust, and partly out of cold. You were allowed to bathe briefly, but you’re still wearing underclothes, and nothing else. He also fed you, just once, but he stuffed you until you felt ready to burst. Now, you’re kneeling on your bed, arms stretched out in front of you and manacled to the headboard. You’re also bound by a chain connected to a collar of surprisingly delicate silver, almost like jewelry, that fastens loosely around your neck. The chain is much slacker than the restraints on your arms, but its cool, metallic weight against your shoulders and collarbone is no less chilling (literally) a reminder of your situation.

         You can’t turn to look properly, but you hear the door open, and tense as you hear Lord Sidious’ footfalls on your floor, slow and refined, even methodical, as he walks around the bed.

        “I do confess, my pet,” you hear behind you at last, his soft voice making you jump in the midst of so much quiet. “Your actions yesterday were…quite unexpected. I did not think you capable even of such defiance as you showed.” He is beside you now, one hand lifting and tracing your chin almost lovingly. “You play the role of the innocent, submissive little mouse, so well that you fool even yourself. But there is some will to you…you have held it back from me. A mistake, you’ll find.” His hand continues, feeling the tension in your features, your neck, your shoulders, noticing how your muscles anticipate it, struggling to continue to support you, not to buckle at his touch.

         “Convincing,” he murmurs. “But I think I see you clearly now. Obedient, yes…but not unbroken.” One fingernail traces your spine delicately; your back arches under it, raising your backside. “I shall have to fix that.”

         The first strike comes as a surprise, and it really does drive you down off your hands and knees and into a kneeling position on top of the blanket. At first, you can’t identify it.

        Though it is strangely familiar.

        Then it comes to you. From when you were a child – they would do this when you were disobedient…and even then, oh gods, the way you felt…

        You can’t hold back the cry as he hits you with the belt again.

        You don’t know how many times it is; only that when the impacts finally cease, your backside is almost numb, and you know the wetness between your legs has soaked the fabric of your briefs and is probably dripping onto the bedspread. You moan as Lord Sidious presses a few fingers against your folds through the thin, drenched cloth. The sliver of ego you do have is silently screaming in humiliation that so painful and degrading a punishment only seems to excite you further.

        “You _enjoyed_ that, didn’t you?” he hisses. “You truly are a little _whore_.” He slaps you hard across your still-sore backside on the last word. Then you can feel his hands casting off your briefs and positioning your hips. “But it does seem a shame to let it go to waste.”

        He takes you from behind – though not in the ass, as you had originally thought, with some trepidation, that he might – fucking you the hardest he ever has. It’s difficult to move from your precarious position; his thrusting alone is enough to keep you perpetually off-balance, especially as the heaviness of your full belly weighs on you, and as your knees have begun to get tired. His cock is like one more restraint, holding you in place until he’s had his pleasure from you. As the two of you move, your hands tug on their bonds, which don’t give a single centimeter. You feel like you’re struggling against them, trying to break free; it’s a delicious feeling. You come before he does, your knees finally giving out, permanently this time. You worry he’s going to leave you tied like this all night – he has announced his intentions to sleep away from you; perhaps he senses that is far more of a punishment than anything else – but he undoes the bonds on your arms, leaving only the silver collar and chain, which won’t interfere with your sleep. “Do you like this, my pet?” he asks you, fingering the collar as he prepares to leave you.

         “Y-y-yes, my lord. It’s beautiful.”

         “Good.” He smirks down at you. “You will wear it to your class, and every time you leave these rooms, until I decide you no longer need to do so. I will unclasp it from its chain, others will think it a pretty piece of jewelry – but you and I will know its true significance. I want you never to forget who your master is.”

        “Yes, my lord.” The mere thought of wearing a tangible, constant, secret reminder of your bondage sends a wave of heat through you, but you’re too exhausted to do anything about it, at least until morning.

 

_Lord Sidious, known to most as the kindly Senator Palpatine, gazed down at the girl, Maia. For the second and final day of her punishment proper, he had bound her to the bed once again, face-up this time, her arms and legs spread out, more or less immobilizing her completely naked body. This time, he had also blindfolded her. He was extremely pleased with the effects of that touch, and made a mental note to use it again at some later date._

_Her body still shook; her full, rounded belly trembled; and her chest still heaved; her skin was beautifully flushed with lust and, he now saw, marked by various hickeys and bruises, even a few scratches and – were those really teeth marks? Only one or two, but Sidious still felt his eyebrows rise. He hadn’t even been aware of marking her in that particular way this time._

_Some nights, he still wondered if she was some sort of spy or double agent. Not that he was seriously worried about this; it was simply an occasional flash of mostly-irrational paranoia, especially now that he was so close to his goal._

_The truth was that Sidious still had difficulty accepting her effect on him. For years, he had believed himself to have sublimated his sexuality to the strength of his will, along with his other bodily urges, but at the moment he’d first laid eyes on Maia, something in his brain and body had switched itself on. He had sensed her attraction to him at times, although it was difficult to sense her mind through his own lust. He had kept himself under control, naturally, but it was extremely vexing._

_Over time he had grown to hate her for her distracting ways. Watching her move around his office, the little ways her body would twist and carry itself, produced almost a kind of itch. Even her modest clothing didn’t help; a high-collared blouse couldn’t disguise the faint pull of her full breasts on its fastenings, nor a long, practically-cut skirt hide the flare of her hips and the curves of belly and her rear. All they could do was tease him with their suggestions of her shape; their coy refusal to reveal any more. Even her hair in that prim little braid had seemed to tantalize and mock him._

_But now she was his, and she would never tease him again. She was there when he wanted her, beautifully within his power, so much so that she was actually eager for his use. Even now, the way she moaned and twisted in her bonds, still wet and ready after all he’d put her through today…after binding her, he had taken her until he was spent, and then he had kept touching her, fingering and stroking and even licking her, with the goal of overwhelming her completely; teasing her as she had once teased him, and then bringing her to release over and over until she could no longer stand it; until she remembered nothing but her lord and his touch._

_But he’d underestimated the perversion of his little kolegaz whore, he was realizing now – he had no doubt he could break her, but it would be much more difficult than he had thought. Even now, she writhed, raising herself just off the bed, offering him her sweet, tender, juicy little cunt._

_For a moment, he was tempted, very tempted. Then, he felt a wry little smile curve his lips. Perhaps he had been going about this in the wrong way…_

_“I have business to attend to,” he announced, patting her leg and giving one of her nipples an extra pinch, delighting in her yelp._

_“My lord,” she moaned, and then flashed him the most seductive smile she knew. “Come back to bed.”_

_Oh, she would pay for that. Later. “I will return when I can,” he replied simply, reaching up and undoing her blindfold. Some random twinge of mercy prompted him to Force-twitch the blankets over her still-bare, still-bound form. He allowed himself a cruel smile down at her. “And I will release you when I am convinced you have learned your lesson. As for bed…perhaps another time.” He made a mental note to instruct one of the droids to come down and unbind her in an hour or so. "And incidentally, you are forbidden to touch yourself unless I command it."_

_It was difficult, more difficult than he’d hoped for, to simply walk away when she was so ready, but the frustration that he sensed in her made it worth the effort._


	7. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of self-harm

         You lie back in the warm water and give a small sigh of contentment. The bath chamber in your apartment, set apart by a curtain and a half-wall from the rest of the gleaming refresher, is warm and comfortably steamy. The lights are dim and orange-gold, causing the fixtures, made of warm pinkish stone flecked with gold, to glow translucently. The light also reflects off the water and the bubbles that foam up in it, making them glitter iridescently, like hundreds of tiny diamonds. The water itself is just the right temperature – almost too hot, but not quite.

         Besides all this, and the comfort of the water, there is the presence of Lord Sidious himself. He’s sitting in the bath with you, between your wide-spread legs, which he has wrapped around his body. He is leaned back against your chest, and you take a secret wanton pleasure in his head’s position between your breasts. You also like that in this position, he may be able to hear your heartbeat.

         He speaks, idly, eyes still closed. “What are you thinking about, girl?”

         His words seem to echo in the quiet; you had been careful to maintain the peaceful silence, knowing that it was what he desired after a long day. It was what you desired at the end of _your_ day, too, come to think of it. “I have to confess, my lord: not much, right now. I suppose I’m just…tired.”

         “Your studies are proceeding satisfactorily?”

         “Oh yes, my lord. At least, as far as I know. I don’t have my first marks yet.”

        “You have been quieter than I would have expected about them,” he remarks. “I was under the impression that you were somewhat passionate about the subject.”

        “Oh, I am, my lord.” You reassure him quickly. “It’s just…I’m sure this will sound silly, my lord, but…it’s just been…an adjustment. Even though I wanted it. Even though I like it. Going from staying in here all day, doing what I like, to going out at a certain time and actually trying to work at something…” You trail off and fall silent, aware of how lazy and frivolous you sound. You can feel your cheeks and ears going pink.

        He is quiet for a while, and then he inquires, “And did you receive any reactions to your…necklace?”

        You are blushing even harder, but now it’s out of pleasure and arousal, not embarrassment. Lord Sidious’ current orders are that you wear your silver collar whenever you leave these rooms. It’s fastened by a small key-lock, and only he has the key and can therefore remove it. Unhooked from its chain, it simply looks like an elaborate filigree necklace, an ordinary piece of jewelry. Only you and Lord Sidious know what it truly is and what it means; the weight of it on you all day, the sensation of it as it rubs your throat just faintly with every swallow, is a constant reminder throughout your time outside of who you belonged to, of your secret existence and role. The idea, the feeling of wearing the collar, makes you shiver with constant, secret excitement.

       “Yes, my lord,” you recount. “In fact, I received several compliments on it. One of them was from…well, from a young man in the class.”

       “Oh, yes?”

       “Yes, he asked me if I wanted to meet for dinner after the class ended.”

       “And?”

       A smile curves your lips. “Of course I told him I was not interested, my lord.”

       You tell the story suspecting that it would amuse, if not please outright, Lord Sidious; that another man, in an attempt to attract you, actually complimented you on the symbol of your bondage to your Master – and that you chose Lord Sidious over him. You still remember the incident with your Master’s prospective near-apprentice – how could you forget? His words still ring inside your head sometimes – and you wonder if sometimes Lord Sidious doubts your loyalty and devotion, because of the age difference between you. You sometimes believe that he likes to be reminded that you do prefer him over younger men.

       You think you hear a small, appreciative sigh from him, and then he takes both your hands in his, pulling your arms down around his shoulders, and your head down closer to his neck. In the process, you feel his fingers brush the still-tender skin on your inner arms. You tense, suddenly full of anxiety, hoping he noticed nothing. Your face burns anew.

       “What-?” You close your eyes and tense further as you hear the curiosity in his tone as he turns over your hands. You wish you weren’t here right now; you almost wish you’d never even followed him down to the Red Room in the first place. Almost.

       After a few seconds that feel like hours, he speaks again, calmly, even sympathetically. “Maia, what happened here?”

       You can feel a few hot tears trickling down your face, mixing with the bathwater. You don’t know what to say. You can’t even think what lie to tell.

        “Maia?” His voice is more insistent now. “Was there an accident of some kind? Come, girl, I’m not angry with you, only curious. Besides, these are not deep, but they are somewhat extensive. We cannot have them becoming infected.”

       You still can’t speak. It’s taking everything you have not to start sobbing outright as the tears begin to flow faster.

       He extricates himself from your arms and turns in the tub to face you. You can’t look him in the eye. You don’t know how you’re going to explain this. You know he is going to dismiss you, throw you out, maybe kill you, when he realizes what you’ve done. What you are. You can’t even blame him.

        You should have told him the night he first claimed you; yes, you weren’t thinking of that then and yes, he would have killed you. But you should still have made sure he knew what he was getting, with you. _Damaged goods_.

        You try once more to explain, but you don’t even know where to begin. He seems to sense this, and suddenly you feel another mind piercing yours, searching it – no, dissecting it – coolly and efficiently, for the information he wants. You feel your own body distantly, and it shivers despite the hot water and warm air, all of you feeling exposed, violated in a way that his touch never made you before.

        Lord Sidious withdraws and looks back across at you. Even you can see his anger; it’s not unexpected, and you curl further in on yourself, bracing for the storm.

        _“You did this to yourself.”_ The words slice the air.

        At last, hesitantly, you’re able to speak. “Y-y-yes. Y-yes, my lord.” Your voice comes out so quiet that for a moment you wonder if he heard you.

        After a few moments, you find yourself able to continue. “I – I used to do it m-more often, my lord. Before I came here. It’s…it’s just that…as I said, it’s been an adjustment, lately, and there’s been some…some stress…” You trail off; again, ashamed. At last, you add, “I know it isn’t really…much, the stress; I know it’s silly…I know I am…weak and l-lazy, my lord, but it’s…it’s so hard for me not to. Sometimes.”

        Now it’s his turn to be silent. He continues to stare at you. Finally, you break the silence again. “I am…I am sorry, my lord.”

        He stirs, leaning toward you. “I told you the night you became my kolegaz that your body was now mine, did I not?”

        “Y-yes, my lord. You did.”

       “There will be no more of this.” He scowls. “You will not be returning to that class”-

       “No, my lord, please! I only need a little more time to adjust and”-

       “There will be no further mutilation like this.” He takes one of your arms, and turns it over, showing you the angry white gash of a scab. “I will not have it, Maia, do you understand me?”

        “Y-yes, my lord, I’ll try”- _But you’ve already tried so many times before, just like with the dieting, and still nothing’s worked…_

       You know he picks up the thought, and you sink down farther, now ashamed of your own attitude. When you dart a glance up at him, he looks less angry, but sunk in his own thoughts.

       _I’m so sorry, my lord,_ you tell him in your heart. _You deserve…you deserve someone…better._ He deserves someone untroubled by anxieties and whims like yours, someone less willful, more easily satisfied, someone whose flesh has never been marked by anyone but him.

        “I see your mind,” he tells you. “You think I would cast you aside for this.”

        _You would have the right_. Aloud, you reply, “I – I don’t know, my lord.”

        “I don’t intend to. You’ve served me as best you can, I can see that. Besides, you would not be so easy to replace as you think.” He sighs, resigned. “You are young, sentimental, and naïve, and so I imagine you will build this in your mind into something it is not, but still – I desired you from the first time that I saw you. Very few other beings have aroused such a furious desire in me as you. So it is not simply a matter of finding a more advanced model of you, as if you were a malfunctioning droid. Do you understand?”

       “I – I’m not sure, my lord.” You can’t process his words, not really, not right now. But you are beginning to calm down slightly.

       You still can’t look right at him, but you hear his voice soften a hair or two further. “Know this, Maia: you are mine. I claimed you. And I take nothing but the best for my own.”

        You try to smile through your now-drying tears; it isn’t as hard as you had thought it would be; you do feel a little better. “Th-thank you, my lord.”

 

        “But there will be no more of this,” he repeats later, as he joins you in your bed, both of you warm and dry and feeling better. “I will decide whether you may continue with your class. And I will find a solution to these compulsions of yours. I wish you to put it out of your mind until I inform you as to what you are to do.”

        “Yes, my lord. I’ll try.”

       “See that you do.” He pulls you close, almost jealously, which arouses you. “I have told you before that your body belongs to me.” He raises himself and mounts you, bending to seize your freshly-washed, sweet-smelling hair and whisper into it, “This is mine.” Hisses, “this is mine,” as he draws in to kiss your mouth. Against your neck, breath making you shiver, “this is mine.” His hand moves to your breast and pinches your nipple. “ _This_ is mine.”

       He presses against the pucker of your navel. “This is mine.” Against your backside, and then your thigh. “This is mine. And _this_.”

        And finally, his hand moves over your clit and vagina; you can feel the heat of his palm, just above your lips and folds, which seem to strain toward it. “And this…this is certainly mine.” In your mind, you beg him to touch you, to lower his hand just a centimeter or two. When he does, you whimper and he laughs.

        “I think,” he murmurs in your ear, “that we both require a little further relaxation tonight, pet. Don’t you agree?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone has any other ideas, please let me know. I actually really like writing this one, but I'm running out of scenarios, especially ones that don't pander to my own obscure and fairly depraved kinks.


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